Smile
by Angst-BuriTTo
Summary: The worst kind of pain is when you're smiling, just to stop the tears from falling. - Unknown DEATHFIC


Everyone has that moment, that one time in their lives when they are in a situation, or doing something, and just think: 'I'm done.' a lot of people are thinking about the situation, the thing they're doing, and just do something else or walk away.

The thing is, for the other people, it's kind of hard to walk away from life or do something other than live.

Sometimes, people are just done with everything.

Done with _smiling_.

Done with _working_.

Done with _laughing_.

Done with _hiding_.

Done with _living_.

Just _done_.

And you can try so hard to fix it, but every time you try to reach out to someone, to ask for help, Every time you attempt to feel happy or smile or laugh genuinely-That noose that you feel around your throat, your chest, your heart- it tightens. It tightens and tightens until you _cantbreathwhycantIbreathpleasestopIhateeverythingwhydoeseveryonehatemewhatdidIdowrongI'mamonsterIamahorriblepersonIwanttgistoendpleasejustmakeitstopIjustwanttodie-_ stop and just don't let anyone close enough, near enough to see how you really feel, to look behind the masks that you've been using your entire life to stop people from getting to know the real you.

The _vulnerable_ you.

The _sad_ you.

The _angry_ you.

The _real_ you.

And eventually they stop trying to look behind the mask, and just take the laughing, joking, childish you. They tease you and they belittle your mask, your persona, and they laugh at your failures.

They don't see the hurt on your face that you hide before it's noticed.

They don't see the agony you hide every time a barb or a comment hits too close.

The don't notice the flinches when touched.

They don't notice that you never, ever wear short sleeves.

And they certainly don't notice that every smile, every laugh- is _faked_.

You've told them simple things about your childhood, your father, enough, you hoped, that they could draw the correct conclusion.

But they don't.

And they _welcome_ your tormentor with open arms and wide smiles.

They praise his charm, they marvel at his personality.

And just like with you, they don't bother to look beyond the mask.

For Tony DiNozzo, a lifetime of torment, mental, physical, emotional, wore him down like glass that gets dropped in the ocean until it's smooth, pretty looking, but if the outer shell was broken, it would be unable to hide the jagged, cutting edges and make him bleed.

Tony DiNozzo Jr. had been a candle for everyone else, had brightened everyone else's world and made them happy, but in the end, he never had enough left over for himself, leaving only darkness for him to agonize and live in.

His candle was almost used up, the wax almost gone, and he knew that it wouldn't take much for that last bit of wax to fall off the precarious table ledge, and splatter into a stain for someone else to clean up, another stain on the already beaten and battered carpet.

Walking into work that day, Tony was already tired. Not sleepy, no, he had plenty of sleep. He was just tired-of _everything_.

The monthly abusive drunken message left on his answering machine from his father telling him how worthless and pathetic he was didn't help, and he hoped that for once, something at work could cheer him up.

"Gear up, we got a dead Marine!"

And the day started.

Arriving at the scene, Tony ignored his teammates ribbing at his expense, and noticed immediately that there was something churning in his gut, something that told him that something was going to happen. For some reason, it made him smile.

"You find something funny about a dead Marine, DiNozzo?"

Ah, Gibbs. Short as ever. Gibbs was probably the only person who saw behind his masks. But with a threat of leaving and disappearing made Gibbs back off years ago when he brought it up.

"No, Boss!" He replied, getting to work on processing the scene.

Gibbs nodded and went to interview the wife, only feet away, and Tony began sketching the scene.

"I do not see why he keeps you around when you clearly can not stop clowning around," Ziva smirked, and Tim snickered.

"It's because he's a good outlet, Ziva. Every team needs a punching bag, and Tony's pretty good at it, not much else though."

It was that moment, that Tony thought: ' _I'm done._ '

And the perfect opportunity presented itself, as if someone upstairs knew that he needed an excuse.

A flash of red made him look around, and see a red dot on the back of Gibbs neck, and he just reacted.

Jumping to action he ran, pushing the older man out of the way, hearing the wife scream and Gibbs yell in shock, before he hear a bang, and felt a pop, before a sharp pain in his chest.

He crumpled to the ground his hearing and vision going fuzzy as he felt blood bubbling it's way up his throat, out his mouth and down his chin. He coughed, and noticed that the grey-haired blob now had a splash of red on its face.

The blob was yelling something at him, something about _not dying_ and _permission_ , and _please don't leave_.

But Tony ignored it all.

As the darkness enveloped him, as his heart slowed and the blood began leaking out of his wound into a fast trickle, and as his breathing began to slow, he smiled.

He smiled, because he knew that even in death, they wouldn't see beyond his mask.

They wouldn't call this _suicide_.

They would call it _heroism_.

He smiled,

because he was _done_.

He was smiling.

And for once,

 _It was real._


End file.
